


Because I Like You

by kuro



Category: Marvel
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro/pseuds/kuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles centring on non-sexual acts of intimacy. (More are to come.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Head and Back Scratches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlossomsintheMist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/gifts).



It was a nice morning, very sunny and unusually warm for February. Steve had woken early, filled with a strange, restless energy that compelled him to do something. He was off, and there seemed to be a slump in supervillain-related activities, so Steve was ~~bored~~ idle. Going through his options one by one (Museum? Exercise? Maybe take a drawing book with him and do some sketching in the park?), he took a long, hot shower and got dressed.

When he entered the communal kitchen to get some breakfast, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one that was up and about already.

“Oh,” Steve murmured, his heart beat picking up at the sight of Tony sitting at the table, a giant Iron Man mug cradled in his hands. “You’re back.”

“Mmh.” Tony sighed, inhaling his coffee greedily. “I arrived just fifteen minutes ago.”

“You look tired,” Steve observed, stepping a little closer. It was true, unfortunately, Tony didn’t look too well. The skin under his eyes looked positively bruised, his face a shade paler than usual.

“I couldn’t sleep on the plane,” Tony said, making an unhappy face at his coffee mug. “This business trip was a nightmare. Vultures, all of them.”

“But you’re off today, aren’t you?” Steve asked. “So you can rest.”

“Yeah. But to sacrifice my only free day just to catch up with sleep…” Tony seemed to get distracted for a second, trailing off. He shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee.

“You should go sleep,” Steve suggested. He reached out and tenderly touched the bruised flesh under Tony’s eyes. “I worry.”

“Mother hen,” Tony teased, but he looked up at Steve with a soft smiled and then closed his eyes, apparently enjoying the attention.

Taking heart, Steve let his hand wander slowly. A little hesitantly, he petted Tony’s hair. He was still nervous. It was all so new, and he wasn’t quite sure what he was allowed to do. How far he was allowed to go. How far he _wanted_ to go.

Tony leaned into his hand, silently giving Steve permission. With a pounding heart, Steve ran his fingers through Tony’s hair. Again. And again. Tony hadn’t styled it for the flight, so it was soft and fluffy and didn’t catch on Steve’s fingers. Steve loved it when it was a little tousled and messy. Tony usually kept it carefully styled, and Steve only got to see him like this rarely outside of the suit.

It felt… special.

Slowly, he slid his hand over the back of Tony’s head, gently scratching his nape. Tony shuddered and seemed to turn into putty in Steve’s hands. He made a pleased noise, still smiling softly and apparently beyond words already.

Steve smiled back, even though he knew that Tony wouldn’t be able to see it. It seemed like he had managed to hit the right spot. Carefully calculating his next move, Steve scratched him a little more, gently massaging Tony’s neck in between.

Tony slumped down a little with each movement, leaning into Steve’s side more and more heavily. When Steve moved lower and stroked his back, massaging him gently between the shoulder blades, Tony let the empty coffee mug drop onto the table. Body limp and his face nestled into Steve’s shirt, he was already fast asleep.

Steve sighed quietly. Tony was really much too overworked and so bad at realising when he needed to stop. He’d been already on his very last legs, and still he had tried to drown himself in coffee and get more work done. At least he was predictable that way. And it seemed like Steve had inadvertently discovered a weak spot. One that he would mercilessly exploit.

He bent down to gather Tony in his arms, carrying him away to put him to bed.

Going to the park could always come later. Some things just took precedence.


	2. Adjusting The Bow Tie

Steve looked _very_ attractive in evening attire.

Honestly speaking, he would probably make a potato sack look appealing. Steve was just the kind of person that could make just about anything look good. (His fancy blue suit with a giant star emblazoned on the chest was proof enough for that.)

Still, fact was that Steve looked incredibly attractive in his black suit, perfectly tailored and every last small detail in place. His jacket nicely accentuated his wide shoulders and slim hips. His shoes were a glossy black, without a single stain. His cuff links were polished and glowed a faint blue, just like the light in Tony’s chest. They had suddenly appeared one day without warning, and everyone kept cracking jokes about Tony marking his territory even now. But the truth was: Tony hadn’t given them to Steve. And so far, Steve had expertly avoided passing a comment and steadfastly refused to take them off.

Be that as it may (Steve was nothing if not bullheaded), the flawless elegance of his appearance only made the face Steve was making at himself in the mirror as he was tying his bow that more hilarious. He knew perfectly well how to tie a bow, he’d done it innumerable times already. Still, Steve gravely frowned at his reflection in the mirror every time, with the determination that he usually reserved for occasions when he was recklessly facing down a particularly wicked enemy. Tony couldn’t decide if he found it incredibly adorable or absolutely hysterical. It was probably both.

He swallowed his laughter with difficulty and stepped up to Steve. “Come on, Steve,” he said, smiling as innocently as he could manage. “Let me help you.”

Steve stared at his reflection grumpily, but after a moment, he stepped back from the mirror and let his hands sink. Tony moved into Steve’s space and carefully fixed the bow. He’d been taught how do do one at an early age and could probably do it in his sleep. But when it came to Steve, he was extra careful.

“There,” he said when he had finished, lightly patting Steve’s chest and stepping back. “All perfect. A real feast for the eyes.”

He looked up, smiling, and found Steve staring at him. Tony wasn’t a self-conscious person by far, but the sheer intensity of Steve’s gaze made him want to squirm.

“Ah…Steve?” he asked.

“Not the only one,” Steve murmured, reaching out and gently clasping Tony’s chin, tilting his head that tiny little bit so Steve could easily kiss him.

Tony got a bit distracted for a second, so he didn’t notice for what was probably too long that Steve’s hands were busily wandering to places they should _not_ be wandering right now.

“Steve,” he warned, withdrawing from the kiss a little reluctantly. “We need to go to that gala.”

Steve only grumbled something unintelligible, kissing Tony’s cheek, his lips slowing wandering closer to Tony’s ear.

When Steve reached the soft spot between Tony’s jaw and ear, Tony started to snigger and squirm.

“Steve, I’m serious, we need to leave,” Tony repeated.

“But you’re so pretty and it’d be a waste,” Steve petulantly informed him, wrapping his arms around Tony’s hips. “I don’t want to share.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Tony sighed, but he couldn’t help but smile. He would never admit to it, but he was flattered whenever Steve got a little handsy and possessive. He might sometimes be all fake-friendly with people at galas and other events, just to see Steve bristle a little. Steve did it every time, even though he knew perfectly well that Tony was being completely dishonest. And that absolutely no one but Steve was ever going to get to take him home, anyway.

And if Tony had a thing for Steve’s form of payback, no one but Steve did ever have to know. Even if Tony had to wear scarves for days afterwards.

(Steve’s pleased little smile whenever he looked at Tony was totally worth it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. That did not go where I planned to.   
> 2\. Yes, Steve did in fact do that on purpose.   
> 3\. He might also be a teeny bit obsessed with Tony’s neck.


	3. Slow Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of sad, sorry.

The mission could have gone better. No, that was putting it nicely. The mission had ended in a disaster, and they had spent _weeks_ preparing, only to have everything blow up right into their faces at the worst possible moment. Steve knew intellectually that it hadn’t been their fault. There was simply nothing they could have done. That didn’t make it any easier on any of them, though.

When the quinjet had landed back in New York, they had all quickly and silently scattered, looking for a place where they could rest and process their failure in peace and quiet.

Not Steve, however; he had a concrete destination in mind. A person, to be specific.

Tony hadn’t taken part in the mission, partly because he was needed somewhere else, and partly because his particular skill set hadn’t been needed this time. He would still blame himself for not coming with them, for not being able to help, but Steve, for one, was glad that Tony hadn’t been there. The knowledge that Tony was back in New York, safely tucked away in the Tower, had been what had pulled Steve through in the end.

Pepper had helpfully relayed to Steve that Tony was at the mansion this afternoon, so that was where Steve was headed. When he arrived, he found Tony sitting in the living room, surrounded by mountains of paperwork and listening to smooth jazz.

For a moment, Steve stood in the door frame, just staring at Tony poring over his work, and soaked in the feeling of relief. Tony was here, and he was perfectly fine. He looked good. His hair was slightly tousled because he had a habit of pushing back his hair with his hand when he got absorbed in his work. The tie was gone, and the top button of his shirt was open. The sleeves were rolled up, drawing Steve’s eyes to Tony’s really quite lovely and deceptively slender wrists.

When Steve stepped into the room, Tony looked up and smiled at him, a warm and affectionate smile.

“Welcome back,” Tony greeted. “There’s food in the fridge, if you want some. I ordered enough.”

“Let’s dance,” Steve blurted out in stead of an answer. The music was nice, and he had just that the sudden urge…

Tony looked at him, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “What?”

“Let’s dance,” Steve repeated.

With sudden awareness, he realised that he was still dressed in his uniform. Probably sweaty and dirty, too. Tony must think he’d gone nuts.

Tony smiled and stood up, however. “Fine with me,” he said, easily stepping closer to Steve and holding out his hand. “Lead me.”

Steve took a deep breath and pulled Tony close to him, as close as he could without making it awkward for the two of them to move. Tony easily followed Steve’s slow movements, letting him set the pace. He’d always been good at that, for some reason. Matching Steve in everything seemed as easy as breathing to him. It was…

When Steve buried his face in Tony’s shoulder, Tony only reached up and petted Steve’s hair, never once faltering in his steps.

Steve took a few deep breaths, taking comfort in the mix of laundry detergent, cologne and metal that made up Tony’s unique smell. He was back, back where he belonged. A strong emotion shook him from within.

“Steve,” Tony murmured into his ear, hesitantly. “Steve, I know it’s horrible of me to say, but… thank you for coming back. When I heard– when I heard what had happened over the comm, I thought…” Strong hands gripped him tighter.

Steve hugged back just as tightly. “I love you,” he mumbled into Tony’s shoulder, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

Tony didn’t reply, but he quietly held Steve in his arms, slowly moving along with the rhythm of the music until Steve’s tears had dried.


	4. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is technically a continuation of the first chapter, although it's probably quite different in style.

“Hey, Sleepyhead.”

The amused voice came from somewhere above him, calling for him, but Tony was way too comfortable curled up in his nest of blankets and pillows. Still mostly asleep, he quickly elected to ignore it. Whatever it was, it could wait for a bit.

“First, you don't want to sleep. Now, you're ignoring me in favour of a soft pillow?” Steve laughed a warm laugh. “I feel very unloved.”

Tony knew perfectly well that it was a trap, but still, he couldn't resist to turn around, blindly grabbing for Steve. “Not unloved,” he mumbled, finding a hand and trying to pull Steve down onto the bed with him.

Steve, unfortunately, steadfastly resisted.

Tony laboriously cracked one eye open to shoot him an accusing glare.

“I have a proposition to make,” Steve said, grinning down at Tony, far too chipper for Tony's taste. He smelled like sunshine and grass, so he must have been at the park and just returned back to the mansion. Tony found himself wishing he could have gone with Steve.

Instead, he grinned back up at Steve, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You know I'm all for propositions.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know that. How about this one, then: You take a shower while I go and prepare dinner. Then we eat it together and maybe watch a movie or two, if you want to.”

Tony mulled the suggestion over for a moment. Normally, he would immediately jump at the chance of Steve making dinner for him, but... he was warm in bed, in a state of comfortable laziness that he rarely could indulge in recently. He didn't really want to get up. But now that he was thinking about it, a shower did sound nice. Or maybe not necessarily a shower.

“How about...” Tony mused. “How about we order the food? And a bath instead of a shower? Together?”

Steve huffed. “I knew it was you that's been stealing my bath salts.”

“I would _never_ ,” Tony said in mock-offence. 

Steve gave him an unimpressed stare. Then he sighed. “Fine, I got you. Bath time it is.”

Tony carefully didn't mention that he could totally see Steve suppressing a grin.

* * *

 

Tony wasn't exactly sure where Steve got his bath salts from, but fact was: They smelled heavenly. He couldn't remember when the first bath salt had appeared in the mansion (had it been a present from somebody?), but before Tony had known, Steve was the owner of an extensive collection of bath salts and other wonderful, fragrant items. Tony didn't mind one bit, and he certainly didn't mind watching Steve carefully prepare the bath, making sure that the water had the right temperature and that the right amount of ingredients was used.

“I kind of feel like you're planning on cooking _me_ ,” Tony joked from his lookout next to the wash basin.

“Looks like my dastardly plans have been busted,” Steve lamented, not bothering to make it sound the least bit convincing. “Come on, bath's ready.”

Tony grinned and slipped out of his shirt and sweatpants in a flash. Before Steve could as much as blink, he had already dove into the bath and below the thick cover of bubbles. “Come on,” Tony said, re-emerging from the hot water. “I'm pretty sure you weren't planning on gawking while I enjoy your mystery bath.”

“That was really dangerous,” Steve grumbled, but he readily stripped himself, folding his clothes and putting them aside.

Tony quietly enjoyed the view. Who could blame him? It was a very nice view. The best, really.

Steve gave him a raised eyebrow when he caught Tony staring, but he unselfconsciously walked over and slipped into the tub next to Tony. “Happy now?”

“Very,” Tony assured Steve, leaning into his shoulder and closing his eyes. And it was the truth. Steve might sometimes like to pretend that he was a grumpy old man, but he still readily went along with all of Tony's odd moods. Tony knew better than anyone else: If Steve didn't want to, there was no budging him. And some days, Tony could hardly believe that Steve really _wanted_ to.

So yes, he was very happy with getting to share a bath with Steve. It was wonderfully warm and smelled pleasantly of flowers and something else Tony couldn't quite pin down. It reminded him of something, something that seemed important... He hadn't really paid attention to what Steve had been putting into the bath, so he took a few deep breaths, trying to find it out.

While he was still mulling over the possibilities, he already felt himself doze off. He slipped a little, his head falling off Steve's shoulder. Before he could drown himself in the water, though, a hand wrapped itself around his waist.

Steve wriggled a bit, and after a moment Tony found himself back to front with Steve. (Not that he was complaining.) Steve gave him a soft kiss on his shoulder before Tony could hear him reach for the shampoo bottle, opening it with a click. Then, large, steady hands started to massage Tony's scalp.

“I get so spoiled by you today,” Tony sighed in contentment. The hands in his hair determinedly found all the right spots, making him turn into putty. Steve was frighteningly good at finding his weak spots, Tony thought idly. And if Tony only knew Steve even the tiniest bit, he would take mercilessly advantage of it. For some reason, he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

“Such a lucky guy,” Steve said mockingly, but Tony could hear the smile in his voice.

He couldn't help but smile, too, even with his eyes closed.

“The luckiest.”

And that he was.


	5. Bad Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More back scratchies, as well as excessive fluff!

Tony was wandering around Avengers Mansion, trying to find one particular tall, blonde, and blue-eyed person. Well, that was probably not a very helpful description, since the mansion housed two such specimens. Steve. He was looking for Steve.

The only trouble was that Tony had expected to find Steve in his room, but Steve, it seemed, had decided to defy his expectations for once. After popping by the training rooms and finding them completely empty, Tony decided to look in the kitchen. (Steve spent a lot of time in that kitchen, with that stomach of his.) 

When he arrived there, however, he only found Peter hanging from the ceiling and rifling through one of the kitchen cupboards. Peter gave him an apologetic grin before he tore a box of something brightly coloured and highly unhealthy-looking open, decimating its contents within seconds. Tony rolled his eyes (perhaps a little dramatically) before he retreated; this team was full of people with insatiable appetites. Lucky they had a billionaire to back their food-related excesses. They should really be more grateful for that. 

Since Steve wasn’t in the kitchen, the only other option left was the living room, and Tony quickly made his way over there. A single glance told him that he had been right; Steve was there, lying face down on the sofa, his face buried in one of the many plush pillows that had suddenly appeared in the living room one day and had stayed there ever since. (And that no one admitted to having bought.)

“Steve!” Tony called out to him.

Steve answered with a sound that was somewhere in between a growl and a pathetic whine.

“Steeeeve,” Tony repeated, feeling a smile tug on the corners of his mouth. Someone was in a horrible mood. 

Tony had hoped that the teasing sound of his voice would make Steve react, but it seemed that he was out of luck. Steve made another strange sound, but he remained exactly as he was, flopped onto the sofa gracelessly.

“Steve, you’re going to smother himself with that pillow,” Tony informed him as he made his way over, trying not to stumble over the cables and consoles that someone had left lying around again.

Steve mumbled something along the way of ‘hopefully I will,’ but with the pillow still in his face, it was hard to tell. 

Tony carefully nudged Steve out of the way a little, so that he could sit down on the sofa, as well. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. 

Steve only shook his head this time, a little awkwardly because he didn’t even bother to lift his face up from the pillow. It really looked like he was planning to smother himself. 

“Do you need something? A hug, maybe? Or a pet?”

Steve made another sound, this time closer to a pitiful whine. Despite the fact that he was flopped on the sofa like a dead fish, his neck looked very tense. It was easy for Tony to reach out and press the tense muscles there, figuring out where they were and kneading them lightly. 

Tony could readily see the tension drain out of Steve as his hands wandered slowly from his neck down towards his shoulder blades. He smiled a little to himself, because when it came to certain things, Steve was very, very easy to handle. 

He did wonder what had put Steve in such an odd mood, though. It wasn’t unusual that Steve was sulking, but usually, he liked to complain about it, at least to Tony. That Steve didn’t want to talk about it at all worried him a little.  
He continued to knead Steve’s back softly, not bothering to press Steve about the topic any further. Tony was sure that Steve would confide in him, in his own time. 

Concentrating on the motions of his fingers, Tony lost track of time and his own thoughts after a while. He couldn’t even remember why he had been looking for Steve in the first place, getting lost in the soft rhythm of his own movements. It couldn’t have been that important, anyway. And it didn’t really matter right now, when they were surrounded by a gentle, relaxed silence. 

At some point, Steve finally turned his head around, just enough so that Tony could see one blue eye peeking up to him. 

“Hello, grumpy,” Tony greeted Steve in a hushed voice. “How do you feel about ice cream later? I have a few tubs hidden away where Thor and Peter can’t get to them.”

That finally brought movement into Steve’s body, wrapping himself around Tony and placing his head into Tony’s lap. (For easy cuddle access, Tony guessed, not that Steve would admit that.) 

“Have I recently mentioned that I love you?” Steve asked, sighing when Tony lightly scratched him behind his ears.

“You might have,” Tony mused. “But you’re very welcome to repeat it as many times as you’d like to.”

The joke had its intended effect; Steve chuckled a little. 

“That might be a bit too much work for me, really,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and enjoying the continued attention. “I’d be at it all day.”


	6. Mine and Thine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wearing another person's clothes. :3

Tony was by no means a small man.

He was well above average in height, his body muscular and toned. That fact was sometimes difficult to remember if you spent any significant amount of time around people like Thor or Hercules, who were in the size and weight range of an adult grizzly bear. Tony was tall and fit, but in the company of so many people that exceeded 'average' by far, he wasn't particularly eye-catching out of the armour.

But that was it, wasn't it. It had never been Tony's strength or size that made him dangerous. Nor was it the armour.

Right now, however, Tony looked anything but dangerous and he did, in fact, look small. Steve and Tony might be almost the same size height-wise, with only about an inch between them (an inch that greatly annoyed Tony and greatly amused Steve), but Tony distinctly lacked in bulk. He was muscular, that was sure, but in a different, leaner way than Steve. Steve's dress shirt looked positively huge on him.

Tony was sitting on the floor in the middle of his room, dressed only in said shirt and the Captain America socks Peter had given him for Christmas, fiddling around with a broken toy. His hair still looked slightly wet, so he must have gotten distracted sometime after his morning shower. As he often did.

He hadn't yet realised that Steve was there, standing in the door frame and watching him with a smile. Tony's attention was completely focused on the toy in his hands, muttering unintelligibly under his breath while he fiddled with a screwdriver.

Powerful and dangerous, Steve reminded himself.

_Cute_ , a very unhelpful voice in his mind supplied. 

He pushed himself off the door frame and made his way over to Tony, kneeling down and looking at what Tony was holding in his hand.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Repair work?”

“Mhm,” Tony nodded. “The children keep breaking stuff. We should open a daycare.”

Steve sighed. Young Avengers were great and all (despite his misgivings; they really shouldn't go out and fight quite that young), but a lot of them hadn't really grown into their powers yet, and accidents tended to happen more often than not. A broken piece of electronics was a small price to pay in comparison.

“Steve, I can feel your disapproval from over here,” Tony laughed. “Stop being such a mother hen all the time.”

“I'm not a mother hen,” Steve denied.

“Yes, you are,” Tony snickered, putting the tools he had been working with to the side. He turned around to Steve, deliberately twisting his body into one of these ridiculous pin-up poses. “I'd rather you pay attention to me.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Are you trying to come on to me?”

“That depends,” Tony grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Is it working?”

“Well, I do like your lace panties,” Steve observed, giving Tony a good once-over. “And my shirt suits you very well. But at the moment, the pancakes waiting for us in the kitchen hold most of my attention.”

“You're ignoring me for the sake of a few _pancakes_?” Tony exclaimed in mock offence, putting a hand on his chest for dramatic effect. (Still, he readily took the hand Steve held out to him and stood up.) “You utter glutton, you.”

“If I ignored you in favour of a few pancakes, I'd be in the kitchen right now, eating them all without sharing any with you,” Steve teased, smiling. “But I'm here, so you have to mean something to me, after all.”

“So my company is marginally better than a stack of pancakes?” Tony huffed, stomping out of the bedroom. “Well thank you very much. I'm taking this shirt as punishment.”

Steve quietly enjoyed the view and carefully didn't mention that he knew that Tony liked to collect his clothing anyway, punishment or no.

He might have whisked away one or two of Tony's things, too, after all.


	7. Stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this one is sad rather than fluffy. There's a "happy end," though.

“Pigeon crap,” Tony said for the nth time, his voice filled with disgust.

Steve was trying hard to keep a sympathetic frown on his face, even though it was a battle he was rapidly losing. The sight of Tony, agitated and almost completely covered in the offending substance, threatened to make him break out into a huge grin. But he knew, if he laughed now, Tony was going to make him suffer for it in some way. Possibly by having to clean away the... residues.

“Pigeon crap,” Tony repeated again, clonking over to one of the armour cleaning and removal stations. “Why, of all things, did we need a supervillain that attacks with bird droppings?”

“Well, it _was_ rather effective,” Steve tried, shrugging a little.

Tony whipped around and – yes, there it was, the offended, vindictive glare. Steve had said the wrong thing. Of course.

“Pigeon crap just incapacitated my suit and all you have to say is 'rather effective'?” Tony all but shouted. “The joints are broken, the electronics are frizzed, I can trash it! Do you think-”

His voice broke, and Steve could see tears glittering in Tony's eyes before he turned around and started tearing off bits and pieces of his armour, throwing them on the floor violently. Quite a few parts bounced off or skittered on the floor, splattering the droppings they were covered in everywhere. But Tony, right now, didn't care.

Steve waited until he had gotten the armour completely off and stood there in just his undersuit, breathing heavily. Only then did he move behind Tony, wrapping his arms around him, bird droppings or no. When he tried to kiss him on the cheek, however, Tony turned his face away.

“Don't patronise me,” he warned, his voice thick with tears.

“Tony-”

“No, Steve, don't you 'Tony' me. Do you even- do you even care? Do you even understand? Hahaa, I am the rich playboy who plays at being a superhero; oh no, my suit's broken! But I have the money to build hundreds of them, so never mind! Let me just whip up something new and even more destructive, because _I can do it so well_!”

Tony took a deep, shuddering breath, and Steve squeezed him lightly in response, trying to reassure him.

“Leave me alone, Steve,” Tony whispered.

“No.”

“I said, leave!” Tony repeated, angry now.

“No,” Steve insisted. “You're being an idiot right now. Do I think it's a waste of money and time that you have to throw the suit away? Yes. Do I particularly care? No. You know why? Because you are alright. The suit might be broken, but you are alright. That's what matters to me. Even if you can never build another suit again, I don't care. I know you think I don't care about you, Tony, but oh, are you _wrong._ ”

Now, it was Steve's turn to take a deep breath.

“I love you, Tony,” he confessed. “I love you so much, and still you think you have to work for my love.”

Tony was quiet for a long time, only letting out an occasional sniffle. Steve stood there stiffly, waiting and torn between feeling embarrassed at his own outburst and feeling angry that Tony still didn't trust him when it came to his feelings, twisting his words in his mouth. And, if he was completely honest, angry that he was never quite good enough. He always fell short, somehow.

“I want to go to bed,” Tony eventually said in a very small voice. “Together?”

“Mhm,” Steve agreed, slumping a little in relief. “But maybe a bath first?”

Tony let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a snort.

* * *

 

They were quiet during the bath. Steve was a little unsure at first, doubting if his touch was welcome after Tony's reaction, but Tony wordlessly sat between Steve's legs and pressed the shampoo bottle into his hand. That was that, Steve guessed, opening the bottle with a click.

He took his time shampooing Tony's hair, making absolutely sure there was nothing left of the stubborn white mass that had gotten stuck practically everywhere.

Steve knew that Tony didn't believe him that his love wasn't bound to certain conditions. He knew that Tony was torn between enjoying the role as the sponsor of the Avengers and feeling that he  _had_ to do it to earn his keep. He knew that Tony thought that only by constantly giving as much as he possibly could, he was allowed to receive. And he didn't know how to make Tony believe that he would be just as appreciated if he didn't do any of that. 

Steve took the shower head into his hand and adjusted the water pressure, making sure it was comfortable before he started to wash the shampoo out of Tony's hair. Tony sighed lightly when Steve ran his hands through Tony's hair, massaging the scalp lightly. He kept on petting Tony's hair with a smile on his face, until Tony was drowsy with sleep and nearly nodding off in the bath.

Steve dried them both off, still immersed in silence.

When they finally fell into bed, neither of them apologised. It would have been a lie.

“I love you,” Steve said instead, pressing a kiss on the tip of Tony's nose.

Because that, that was the truth.

Tony gave him a watery smile and said nothing.

But just when Steve was drifting off, he could feel a gentle hand reach out to him, and lips pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, Steve.”


	8. Troubled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and sleep do not have a loving relationship. Steve and Tony's relationship might work a bit better.

Honestly speaking, Tony was tired with a capital T. 

It happened too often lately that he found himself zoning out and staring into space when he was supposed to work. Some days, he felt he had only very little in common with that person who could pull all-nighter after all-nighter and still produce brilliant work seemingly effortlessly. It had never been effortless, and lately, lately an unshakeable feeling of emptiness had joined the exhaustion. A feeling that let him neither work nor sleep. 

No matter how bad his sleeping habits might be, however, that was his own problem. It was absolutely no excuse for why he had fallen asleep on Steve. At the breakfast table, no less, right in the middle of breakfast. Tony was utterly, completely mortified. 

Steve had been talking to him, too. It had been some kind of funny story about the last time Steve and Sam had teamed up and went on a recon mission. Unsurprisingly, the whole thing had went awry pretty quick (Tony wondered why they were still letting Steve go on recon missions, he was about as subtle as a peacock), and Sam had been forced to grab Steve and fly them out of there. But then he had been hit by an energy beam, and the two of them had fallen out of the sky…

Tony couldn’t remember how the story had continued, because that had been the point where he’d dropped the coffee he’d been nursing and fell face first into Steve’s chest, fast asleep. At least that was Steve’s version of what had happened. He remembered neither the coffee nor Steve’s chest. Although he kind of regretted that last part a little.

His embarrassment outweighed his regret by far, however, because no matter how tired you are, falling asleep on your best friend when they are talking to you is simply not a thing that should be done. No matter how soothing you might find their voice.

(JARVIS would probably say that it was absolutely no surprise, considering that Tony regularly used recordings of Steve’s voice to help him sleep, but JARVIS was a dirty liar and Tony had no idea what he was talking about.) 

In any case, once Tony had finally deigned to wake up, he had spent the first few moments in disorientation and perplexity, and then had profusely apologised to Steve before he had run off to his workshop and barricaded himself in there. He had internet in the workshop after all, and a toilet. There was absolutely no reason why he should ever leave again. 

He would miss Steve’s stupid laugh and comfortable presence, but he was far too humiliated by falling asleep on his best friend while said best friend was talking to him to risk any further exposure. He _never_ fell asleep in front of people. 

No, becoming a hermit sounded like a pretty intelligent idea, honestly.

* * *

Honestly speaking, Steve was irritated with a capital I. 

It happened too often lately that he found Tony zoning out and staring into space. Whenever he tried to bring up the topic with Tony, however, he was stonewalled and eventually skilfully diverted to a different, less personal topic. And it was starting to wear on Steve. He was getting more worried by the day.

Tony wasn’t well, that much was clear. The black shadows under his eyes were always pronounced, but lately, they had deepened to vicious bruises. His usually brilliant and genuinely excited smile was dimmed and lacked conviction. No matter how many times Tony repeated “I’m fine, Steve, stop being such a mother hen,” it was obvious that he was not, in fact, fine.

So when Tony had fallen asleep on him in the middle of a story, it had been a little surprising, but not entirely unexpected. It had only been lucky that Steve had quick reflexes, because once Tony’s eyes had started drooping, he’d managed to reach out quickly enough to snatch both the coffee mug and Tony before either of them crashed onto the floor. 

For a moment, he sat there, coffee in one hand and Tony in the other, not quite sure what he was supposed to do now. 

Then he shrugged to himself, downed the rest of Tony’s coffee, and moved Tony around until he was leaning on Steve in a more comfortable pose. It wasn’t like he minded Tony leaning on him a little. And it wasn’t like he didn’t also enjoy Tony’s company, even when he was unusually quiet for once. 

Not at all.

He was just glad to help.

So Steve turned back to the breakfast he had neglected in favour of telling his story and ate, ignoring the tickling of Tony’s slow breath on his skin. 

When Tony had suddenly jolted out of sleep only a short time later, apologised with a panicked tone in his voice, and run off, Steve was left behind with the now familiar feeling of irritation. 

This situation was impossible. And unacceptable.

* * *

“The emergency code is for emergencies,” Tony reminded Steve when Steve entered the workshop without permission an hour or so later. Tony stayed bowed over the blueprints he’d been studying, not even bother to look up. Hell, if he looked up he’d probably blush, and he’d like to spare himself the indignity of that. 

“I know, we’ve had that discussion only twenty times already,” Steve grumbled, throwing himself into the seat next to Tony, absolutely without asking for permission.

“Why can’t you seem to remember it then?” Tony asked a little testily, because honestly, he’d given the emergency code to the one person he’d thought was least likely to abuse it. He’d been dead wrong. Steve abused his privileges whenever opportunity allowed. 

That Tony never bothered to actually shut him out had absolutely nothing to do with that.

“Well, I will eventually remember,” Steve informed him. “Once the day comes where you stop shutting people out for idiotic reasons.”

“I have very good reasons, actually,” Tony assured him, still stubbornly staring down at the blueprints in front of him. He wasn’t actually concentrating on them, and he had already forgotten what exactly he’d been working on before Steve came barrelling in, but looking up at Steve didn’t sound like a very tempting idea. No matter how pretty Steve’s face was. (And boy, was it pretty.)

“ _Idiotic reasons_ ,” Steve repeated with emphasis. “I know you haven’t been sleeping enough recently, and then you finally reach the point where you just drop dead, but of course it doesn’t last and you’re already here again, working yourself to the bone!”

“This is work that needs to be done!” Tony protested.

“No! What needs to be done is you getting acquainted with a bed very, very intimately!”

Tony couldn’t help laughing out loud at that. And at the spectacular blush developing on Steve’s face. Because of course he caved and looked at Steve in the end. 

“No, I meant… you need to rest, Tony, really,” Steve stammered, burying his burning face in his hands. 

He he visibly gathered himself for a moment, then he straightened up and looked at Tony again with an utterly serious expression on his face. 

“I know you have trouble sleeping,” he said, clasping his hands together until the knuckles turned white. “And well, I also know that my voice calms you down. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not stupid, I see much more than you guys give me credit for. I could… I could read for you? No wait, that was wrong. I _want_ to read for you.”

Spontaneous combustion had never sounded more appealing to Tony than in this very moment.

Steve, however, seemed to have other plans. He knelt down in front of Tony and pitched his voice in a deep, calm tone. “You need to sleep, Tony. Sleep and rest, until you are energetic enough to go back to work. If you want to, I can stay with you and make sure you can sleep properly. But you should really go to sleep.”

It was silly, but Tony felt his eyes drooping a little every time Steve said the word ‘sleep.’ For one moment, he wondered just how many things he’d thought he’d successfully hidden were known to Steve. How closely had he been watched? But the thought escaped him already, and a deep calm, a feeling so much like Steve’s voice, overtook his brain. 

“We are going… to talk about this,” he mumbled sleepily, before he closed his eyes and let himself fall. 

He knew there was someone who would catch him. 

 

(Steve smiled, a little proud of himself. He _had_ been right, after all.)


	9. Heroic Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because saving people from cockroaches and carrying them around is totally a show of intimacy, right? :)
> 
> Also, pining.

Steve had always had a knack for it, but over the years, he had developed an almost supernatural sense – he just smelled trouble ten miles against the wind.

Or, as in this case, heard it. 

He wasn’t sure what exactly it was that made him pause in the middle of the hallway, but something had definitely made him jolt out of his thoughts. 

As Tony would say with a wry twist in the corner of his mouth, it’s not paranoia if they are really out to get you. It had saved their lives more than once; Steve knew better than to ignore his first impulse. 

So he wandered along the hallway, slowly and carefully, intently listening for any noises that did not belong in the mansion. 

There was a loud crash in the bathroom.

Steve was down the hallway as quick as greased lighting, tearing open the door to the bathroom without a second thought. (The lock broke in the process, but that was really not important right now.) 

It took him only the fraction of a second to assess the situation. Tony was pressed into the far corner of the bathroom, stark naked and white as a sheet, his eyes torn wide open. Someone with skin that usually had such a lovely shade of olive should not ever look this pale, Steve’s mind idly registered.  
And there, right in the middle of the room, a feisty cockroach was crawling all over the bathroom tiles. 

There was a squishy sound and before Steve had consciously decided what he was going to do, the cockroach had already gotten flattened under his Cap slippers. 

“Oh, ew,” he said, pulling a face when he realised he had just squished a cockroach under his foot. That slipper would have to be thrown away – no way he was going to get the cockroach pulp out of the felt again. Clint could wail about how his present had been abused for such a purpose, but it was too late now. They had been a prank gift, anyway. (One Steve very much appreciated, really.)

He slipped out of his slippers, leaving them where they were for the moment.   
When he looked up to check on Tony, he realised that Tony was still pressed into the corner, still stark naked and white as a sheet, and was staring at Steve’s slipper with a horrified expression. 

“Tony?” he asked, carefully, with a gentle voice. “Tony, are you okay?”

In stead of an answer, Tony slowly slid down to the floor. 

“Tony,” he repeated again. “Shellhead, talk to me.”

There was a moment of silence, an agonising moment of tension, and then the whispered answer came. “Steve.”

What was worrying was that Tony’s eyes were still fixed on Steve’s slipper.

“Tony, should I get you out of here?” Steve asked, because honestly, what else could he do? He sure as hell wasn’t going to clean up that squished cockroach in front of a panicked (and very naked) Tony.

When Tony gave him a small nod, Steve carefully made his was over to Tony, grabbing one of the large, fluffy towels on the way over and wrapped Tony in it. He noted that Tony was still slightly wet from the shower (and smelled nicely, he wondered what kind of shower gel he was using), so he rubbed him a little to get him dry. It wouldn’t do if Tony caught a cold, after all.

When he lifted Tony and marched out of the bathroom with Tony cradled in his arms, Steve idly wondered when it had become a normal thing to carry Tony around in a princess carry. It wasn’t that he minded the carrying part so much. Or the physical proximity to what was essentially his best friend. It was more that the situations in which he got to do it featured near-death experiences and injuries far too often for his taste. Luckily, this time it had only been a bad shock. It hadn’t been the first time. And it probably wouldn’t stay the last one, either.

When he finally placed Tony on his bed, Tony gave him a small, shaky, but grateful smile. 

“My hero,” he intoned, but the dramatics Tony was probably going for fell a little flat, considering that he was still rather breathless. 

Steve smiled, torn between the impulse to deny that he was a hero and the impulse to revel in the praise like a puppy that just got a treat from its master. “I guess I can add ‘Vanquisher of Cockroaches’ to my list of titles, then,” he  weakly joked. 

“You should put a ‘heroic’ in there somewhere,” Tony insisted, curling up on the bed and hiding under the large towel until only his still slightly damp hair stuck out. “That was… I’m sorry about that.”

For one moment, Steve felt tempted to reach out again, cradling Tony in his arms and petting his hair, calming him, but then he realised what he was thinking about and viciously tamped down on the urge. What the _hell_ was he thinking?

“I… Don’t mind it, Tony,” he said, clearing his throat. “Er… are you okay on your own? There is a slipper that needs to be burned, I think.”

Tony chuckled, sticking a hand out of his towel-bundle and waving it blindly at Steve. “Go,” he said. “Maybe I’ll even manage to make myself decent until then… sorry about that, too.”

“I really didn’t mind that part, either,” Steve threw over his shoulder before he quickly fled the room. 

He waited until the door was firmly closed behind him before he allowed himself to blush. 

He was an idiot.


	10. Compliments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From time to time, Steve does unexpected things. Such as randomly blurting out compliments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is far less fluffy than I wanted and it's arguably not slashy (mutual pining??), but it's... something. The first thing I actually finished in a while.

“You're a very attractive man, Tony.”

Tony nearly dropped the glass with orange juice he was holding and whipped around, staring at Steve with wide eyes.

“Steve, what the fuck?”

“Careful, your OJ is spilling,” Steve said, nonchalantly picking at his plate of food, as if he hadn't just said something utterly unbelievable.

Tony hastily placed the juice glass back onto the kitchen counter so he was free to gape at Steve. He had to, because it seemed like his brain had just blue-screened and he needed a moment to reboot. He had slept well enough last night, so he was reasonably sure that he wasn't currently hallucinating, at least.

“Steve,” he said hesitantly. “Is there a chance you're under mind-control? Did Natasha slip you another one of these weird poisons for testing? Did someone hit you in the head recently?”

Steve, to Tony's consternation, only laughed, loud and heartily as he rarely did.

“I'm completely fine,” he said after he had finally calmed down. “And Natasha has promised me not to test anything anymore without previous warning. It just struck me, and I felt it was only right to tell you.”

“I, uh, that's not to say I don't appreciate the sentiment,” Tony stuttered, “but-”

“But what?” Steve said, and his brows drew together and his voice grew a little more irritated and cold. “But men don't tell other men they find them attractive?”

There was a short moment of silence in between them where neither moved, Steve frozen in front of his breakfast, and Tony standing in front of the counter. Only the morning sun was shining through the large glass windows of the kitchen, cheerfully ignorant of the suddenly tense atmosphere in the room.

“No,” Tony eventually said. “Don't put words in my mouth, you know me better than that. But I wonder what brought this on. I'm hardly attractive, and at this point, I can barely be considered human.”

Steve's brows drew together even more, if such a thing was at all possible, and his jaw set in that stubborn manner that usually meant he was gearing up for a fight.

Then, suddenly, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“I'm really not going to discuss semantics with you right now, Tony, but what you're saying is utter bullshit,” he said, annoyance still lacing his words. “Does that mean I'm barely human? Does it mean Carol is? What about Bruce? Bucky?”

“I didn't mean it like-”

“I know how you meant it!” Steve exclaimed, the volume of his voice just barely below a shout. “And I'm telling you you're wrong. I'm also telling you to shut up and accept a fucking compliment when you receive one.”

“Steve, that-”

Steve got up from his seat and placed one heavy hand on Tony's shoulder.

“You are,” he said. “Attractive, that is. I've known you for a very long time, Tony, and you've always been an attractive man. Nothing you could say is going to convince me otherwise.”

Tony shook his head. “If I am attractive, what are you?” he asked with a wry smile.

Steve actually laughed at that. “I'm just a scientist's misguided wet dream,” he said. When Tony looked at him, he shrugged lightly. “It's true. I could never keep up with the likes of you.”

He gave Tony's shoulder a final squeeze and let it go, turning around to clean away the remains of his breakfast and leave.

“You really are an attractive man, Tony,” he said, stopping in the door frame. “Even outside of your slick suits and polished shoes. Probably even more so without it. I wonder why you don't see that.”

And with that, Steve walked away. Probably to the training room, to make a punching bag suffer for his frustrations.

Tony sighed, and, finally able to relax, reached for his glass of orange juice. He hadn't even wanted to drink juice, but someone had hidden his coffee.

Now that he thought about it, Steve might be pretty high up on the list of possible culprits.

“Can't keep up with the likes of me, my ass,” he mumbled into his juice. “All the tuning in the world would have been in vain if you hadn't been so very you from the start, you idiot.”


End file.
